Distant Love: New Sight
by Suzuku90
Summary: Edward Elric is sent to war disguised as one of the enemy's soldiers, spying for the Amestrian military. When they launch a surprise attack on the enemy fort, will Ed survive or will he suffer with the rest of them? RoyEd.
1. The Note

**Distant Love: New Sight**

_Chapter One: The Note_

Two men stood silently outside of a closed gate, working their shift on the northern wall of the wooden fortress. Sweltering rays of heat pounded down upon their heads, yet neither reached to remove the red and black hats that they wore. The surrounding barren landscape was devoid of all life; but one could run the length of the long wall, finding a similar pair at the next defensive gate.

Despite their stoic appearances, the stifling humidity was taking its toll on the soldiers. One of them seemed to have his arm locked in place, supporting a rifle on his right shoulder. He was wearing the standard military uniform: black pants, boots, and gloves, along with a red and black hat marked with the emblem of the country, and a red jacket, which bore two golden stars on each shoulder, identifying him as a sergeant. However, his age did not appear to match his rank, low as it happened to be. Short black bangs framed his young face and accentuated the twin golden orbs centered on it, but nothing could be done for his size. He looked a mere teenager, perhaps even younger, with his miserable height. In fact, he appeared to be about half the size of his partner, completely opposite in appearance.

The second man was practically a giant; his shadow extended far beyond the other's. But, if he was a giant, he definitely was a thin one, quite unlike his fit young partner. Skinny arms hung down to his knees, twitching slightly every now and then, fingers fidgeting at the end of his rifle. Dark circles sagged beneath sunken green eyes, making the man - also a sergeant - seem even paler than he already was. The mop of curly brown hair on top of his head did not help much with his lack of tanned skin either.

Both soldiers had small rivulets of sweat trickling down their shadowed faces, and they were breathing heavily in the thick mixture of dry midsummer air and drifting sand. The four-hour shift would soon be over and they could escape the overbearing heat of the desert sunset. It would also be a relief to not worry about having to alert anyone in the fort should any Amestrian armies arrive. After all, they were in the middle of a gruesome war.

A sudden creaking noise from behind did not do so much as startle the two from their vigil. They continued standing in silence, snapping their arms up in salute as a colonel and two other sergeants stopped before them. The highest-ranking man spoke first.

"Sergeant Flamel, Sergeant Oiseau." Neither of the two moved, still staring motionlessly straight ahead. "You are dismissed."

Flamel, the small one, and Oiseau, the pale one, simultaneously yelled "Yes, sir!," dropped their hands down, and began heading into to fort. Before they had gotten very far at all, the colonel spoke again.

"I expect you both to report to my office tomorrow morning at seven o'clock sharp. We will discuss our final plans then." The dismissed sergeants saluted once more before wandering into the fortress.

* * *

Nicholas Flamel collapsed onto his small bed, exhausted from being out in the sun for so long. Mesquin Oiseau sank down onto his own, which was in the same creaky shack that they had been calling home for the last seven months.

The shack, although with little space to spare, had just enough furnishings to accommodate both men. At one end, the two beds sat in their places, although a thin curtain hung between them to offer both occupants a fair bit of privacy, at Oiseau's request. Each of them had a tiny closet with only enough space to fit one uniform and two sets of casual clothes.

At the other there was a kitchen, complete with a wooden counter and cupboards. The kitchen also had a window in it, which had outside of it a shelf. As it was wintertime, a jug of water was balanced on that ledge each night to keep it cool; it was a common enough practice, and very useful. The varying temperatures, from burning day to freezing night, had been adapted to a while ago. In the morning, the water—which would have turned to ice by then—would be brought in and placed in a metal box to keep for the coming day. Life in the desert was somewhat interesting, if not very pleasant.

And it was far away for everyone living there. The fort was at least two hundred miles from the nearest major settlement; Nimby was a very spacious country. Oiseau was around one hundred and fifty miles from his home in a small farmland, and had been forcefully removed to join the military around five months before being posted at Fort Soleil.

Flamel was even farther from his home, and it couldn't be counted in mere miles unlike Oiseau, who had never spoken of a family. He had left behind what would have been a happy wedding. It was supposed to have taken place months ago, but due to the circumstances, his country's leader had sent him on an important mission. Not that he was the only one on the mission; myriad others were doing exactly the same thing, but Flamel had no clue who they were, and hadn't recognized them thus far. Although he wished to know who they were, it was better off this way.

After all, Amestrian spies would not survive long in enemy territory.

Nicholas Flamel was a spy for Amestris. And, as such, he would be acting under an identity other than his own. Sergeant Nicholas Flamel, renowned in the central headquarters of Nimby for his good aim and incredible strength. A young man, not too smart, but one more person to drag into the military for the good of the country.

As if.

Flamel happened to be one of the smartest people in Amestris, and not one with very good aim—except with his goals and insults. No one in Nimby would ever guess that the mindless sergeant was anything close to resembling who he really was.

Edward Elric. The Fullmetal Alchemist, they called him. Temper as short as his height. The People's Alchemist. The Child Prodigy. Brother to what was once an animated suit of heavy colonel under the command of Brigadier-General Roy Mustang, the Flame Alchemist.

Fiancé to Roy Mustang, former womanizer of Central.

There had been some shock within their close circle of friends at that, first when they had started dating and even more after the proposal—which had happened after Edward had resurrected his brother's body all that time ago, sacrificing his arm again to revive the soul; and for the body, his leg and—

Ed was interrupted from his memories of a few years back by a tapping at the window. Glancing at Oiseau, who seemed to have fallen asleep, he slipped on his boots to hide his automail's thumping and walked into the kitchen. Opening the window to receive the letter from a carrier pigeon, he gave the bird a small sliver of bread and began to read the note.

_CEE:FM,_

_The opening midnight of Riley's Run (our warehouse) never is gonna happen to try help everyone's pointless lovers' aches. Now today, or come after Riley's Run? Yami's over us too._

_-BGRM:F_

Excited at the note, Edward began decoding what everything meant. CEE:FM obviously meant 'Colonel Edward Elric: Fullmetal,' as BGRM:F stood for 'Brigadier-General Roy Mustang: Flame.'

It was not, however, a message to ask how he had been. Rather, if the first letter of each word was taken into account—a simple enough code—the letter read:

_Tomorrow night the plan to carry out._

Breath caught in his throat, Ed gazed at the letter, nervous at what little time he had left. Plan? What plan? Roy had never discussed this with him! He must have forgotten in the rush to get Ed over the border and to organize his own troops for other plans.

Hiding the letter in his left boot as he took it off, he dropped his head to the pillow. _Just what I need_, he thought, on the edge of despair. _Just what I need_.

* * *

_Fanfic based off of the idea of ChibiEdo's; he's on DeviantART, and I highly recommend you check out his gallery. The idea and uniform belong to him._


	2. The Lieutenant

**Distant Love: New Sight**

_Chapter Two: The Lieutenant_

Rising at dawn the next morning, Edward and Mesquin dressed quickly and hurried over to their superior's office. They stood in front of his desk, arms held to their heads in salute.

"Sergeants, it is good to see that you are on time," said the colonel, looking the two of them over. His face stayed expressionless as he straightened a stack of papers on his desk, turning back to the soldiers with a small cough. Their hands dropped down to their sides as he commanded, "At ease." He began detailing to them his plans.

"I will be assigning you to one of my most trusted men. We believe that an attack from Amestris will be forthcoming any day now, and you must fight for the good of your country. Now, your new commander shall be here shortly, and-"

Colonel Gris' explanation was cut off by a knock at the door; his lips twitched slightly upwards, satisfaction twinkling in his eyes as the door opened and his prized lieutenant walked in, fully outfitted in uniform with a belt of firearms at his hip. Short red hair tickled the base of his neck. His bangs barely reached his square-rimmed glasses, which magnified the bright greenish-blue eyes set behind them on his pale face. The man grinned at his superior, giving a quick salute before taking in the sight of the sergeants.

"I assume these are the two who will be added to my team?"

With a start, Ed was shocked to realize how familiar that voice sounded. It was mostly smooth but a bit rough, not a high-pitched voice but most definitely not a deep one. Where had he heard it before? Could this person be a spy as well? No, no; a glance at the man's shoulders proved that he was a lieutenant. All undercover Amestrians were either sergeants or warrant officers.

The colonel nodded, filing away the information on Flamel's slightly widened- slightly surprised- eyes for later use. "Lieutenant Avoir d'Argent; these are Sergeants Mesquin Oiseau and Nicholas Flamel," he sad, motioning to them in turn. "They will be under your command from now on. Should you find a problem with them, report back to me immediately. Dismissed."

Lieutenant d'Argent saluted again, beckoning to Oiseau and Flamel. They followed him outside into the windy streets, pulling their caps low over their faces to prevent the flying sand from finding a way into their eyes. The military offices were each in their own little buildings, not one of them any larger than those used as houses: yet another example of how lacking the country was in wood.

The trio came to a stop in front of d'Argent's office, which was as dull and sandy as the rest of them. "Meet me here at sunset for further orders," he said. "For now, go about your daily routines, including your guard posts. Other than that, you might as well get plenty of rest."

Ignoring the feeling of insecurity in the back of his mind, Edward followed Mesquin back to their shack. Just why was that guy so familiar?

* * *

A dark-haired man stood gazing at the horizon, eyes marking the sun's slow descent, the red disc surrounded by deepening reddish-orange colors. He didn't like war, did whatever he could to prevent it, even, but the war's first battle was to be fought that night. Fitting, he thought grimly, that we strike as the sun is setting. The light of the fort will die out just like the sun's light.

He turned from his place, heading back to his troops. It would do no good to linger over thoughts of the lives that would be lost; the only thing it would succeed in doing would be lowering morale. Raising his head, the fair-skinned man spotted a blonde major jogging towards him. He forced a thin smile onto his face as he greeted her.

"Major Hawkeye. I expect all preparations are complete, yes?" inquired the Brigadier General, voice strained as he failed to hide his tension.

The sharpshooter gave him a stern look- not quite a glare, but it still meant that she was disappointed with something. Probably thinks I'm overworking myself, thought the man as he stifled a yawn. "Yes, General Mustang," she replied, shortening his rank. "We are ready, and it is time."

Roy nodded. Yes, it was time. He just hoped that Edward had received his note… if he hadn't, there would be trouble for the petit alchemist. But Roy mentally reassured himself. Of course it would have gotten to Edward; why would it not? There was still a nagging sense of worry in the back of his mind, but he dismissed it. Ed could take care of himself.

The two walked in silence back to the gathered soldiers, returning their salutes to the superiors: Brigadier General Mustang, Major General Hakuro, and Major Alexander Louis Armstrong, the Strongarm Alchemist. The three started giving out orders to their men, beginning their march to the enemy stronghold.

* * *

Edward paced back and forth in front of his and Oiseau's beds, mumbling unintelligibly to himself and drawing stares from his roommate. He didn't care. It didn't matter if he was thought to be crazy or paranoid. The only thing that mattered to him was the plan.

What plan?!

Ed fell face first into his bed, groaning loudly in frustration. The orders he had received were to pose as a Nimbian soldier, gain and send back information, and wait for further orders. No plan had been mentioned.

Perhaps it had just been forgotten? Roy had wanted to tell him something before he'd left; he hadn't said anything, but Ed saw it on his face. A slight hesitation, a hint of confused thought in those onyx eyes. Neither of them had said a word, merely sharing a soft kiss before parting, knowing that it would be the last time they would have together for months. And now, not that he was regretting anything, Ed wished that his fiancé had mentioned the plan.

And he was even less informed than some of the people he was blending in with- was the plan a surprise attack? Perhaps he would find out when he reported to d'Argent later…

Opening his eyes to stare at the wall, he was able to keep the boards in focus for mere seconds before his vision began to dim. At first it didn't bother him; surely it was just the lights. But as a prickling sensation started over his eyes, his heart sank and the world went dark.

Hours passed by, and Edward checked his sight every ten minutes to see if… well, to try to see anything. After five hours, at about sunset- his and Mesquin's patrol had been much earlier than normal- he began to panic. Why couldn't he see anything? It was only supposed to be for an hour at most; what game was the Gate playing at?!

A hand touched his shoulder, and he flinched away from the contact before realizing that it was probably time to receive his and Oiseau's orders. Pushing himself up off the bed, he blinked rapidly as he was blinded by sudden light. Composing himself quickly, making sure his roommate hadn't noticed his momentary pause, Ed walked outside and headed over to d'Argent's place.


	3. Blackout

**Distant Love: New Sight**

_Chapter Three: Blackout_

Edward and his friend—for Oiseau was his friend, someone he could hold a conversation with, which was quite rare in Fort Soleil—were again on time, reaching the lieutenant's office just as the sun started to dip down below the horizon. He answered the door and welcomed them in, a smile adorning his face and his manner as benevolent as it had been earlier. It was more like they were cherished friends, rather than soldiers.

Despite the apparent kindness, Ed and Oiseau looked attentively at Avoir d'Argent. Not only was his voice eerily familiar, but his looks also triggered something in Edward's mind. Who could it be? The problem frustrated him; he would recognize anyone he'd seen before in an instant, but this man was different. It made no sense!

He pushed those thoughts from his mind, mentally shaking his head. d'Argent had started to speak. "Please, sit, make yourselves comfortable," he said. Both Edward and Mesquin's eyes visibly narrowed, but they took the offered seats anyway; he was their superior, after all.

The lieutenant sat down with them after retrieving a tray of biscuits and tea, pouring a generous amount of the steaming liquid in each of the three cups. Edward raised an eyebrow: the man must have a lot of money to afford such luxuries as these in such a troubled time. Sipping their tea, the sergeants listened attentively to d'Argent.

"Tomorrow we can begin investigating the progress of the Amestrian military and attempt to discover their vital supply stores. A multitude of parties shall be formed with capable persons to examine the camp they have recently set up; you will be in the group that is taking a census of all able Amestrian soldiers, including rank, physical description, commanding officer, a list of subordinates, and, if applicable, state title and area of specialization; and…"

The lieutenant's mindless babbling droned on and seemed a meaningless buzz to Edward. His eyes focused on d'Argent's lips; his vision dimmed and there was a 'thunk,' taking no notice of the chair's sudden disappearance from beneath him. He wasn't at all aware of the other body collapsing beside him.

* * *

There was a long silence: the calm before the storm. Not a person moved, the wind was not blowing, and the twilight cast an eerie gloom over every person who dared to step outside. Breath caught in the throats of those who knew what was coming. It would be a miracle if they survived, on either side; both forces were strong and frightening, which was shown by just how much land was in their country.

Then, the silence was broken and the fight began.

A loud 'crack' echoed through the air at a barely discernable signal, startling all the gathered soldiers into action. Orders were yelled and shots were fired, yells of pain went coupled with puddles of blood. The sticky red liquid soon covered much of the battleground, half-hidden by the thick clouds of smoke floating in the overheated air.

The cacophony died out as quickly as it had come, leaving few Nimbian men alive and none unwounded—not surprising, considering their pitiful number in the field. It was an order to leave the survivors as they were—the loss of life was to be as minimal as possible, by order of the Fuhrer. Still, a few of the more unsavory soldiers disregarded this, striking a final blow on some of the dying people that they passed. It was not to be unexpected, as Nimby had many more soldiers hidden throughout and sure to show themselves with weapon in hand, aimed at the chests of their enemies.

Mustang scowled at the destruction around him but said nothing; none of those soldiers being cruel had been placed under his command. He led his section of the large group up to the gate and gave the command to destroy it, and they were joined in moments by the other forces. Fire aided their attack as Mustang snapped his gloved fingers, helping to obliterate the dry wood.

The march continued into the fort, no one specifically leading. Houses were broken into and destroyed, the inhabitants—all of them enlisted in the Nimbian army—were either taken peacefully as prisoners or killed if they attacked. Already they had a plentiful following of red-uniformed men; a couple of them also happened to be spies under service of the Fuhrer. Checking them off of his mental list, Roy recalled the others who would be there: Tina Compton, Jessica Tingle, Kevin Taylor, and Dennis Wilson. At least Edward wasn't at Fort Soleil; he would be at Fort Marais, at Roy's orders. So unless one of his own higher-ups had changed Edward's plans, his lover would not be there. In a way that was a relief, as the black-haired man would not want to accidentally attack the beautiful blond. In another way it was a disappointment; there would be even more time until their next meeting.

Snapping again and barking out even more orders, Roy cleared his mind and walked on into the last night of this dying fort.

* * *

A rough hand whacked him on the head, forcefully awakening him. Bright eyes snapped open, flinching closed again when they were met with glaring light. The attempt to bring a hand to his face went unsuccessful, and he found that thick rope was binding him to a chair. Cursing in his mind—seeing as he was gagged—Ed quickly registered his surroundings and the people with him.

To his right, Oiseau was in the same position as him: bound to a chair and gagged with a dirty rag. It appeared that they were both in the same seats as earlier, though why d'Argent would want to capture them was beyond…

That was it. That had to be it.

First Lieutenant Avoir d'Argent was a spy.

And he hadn't been able to see that.

Panicking slightly, Ed turned his head to the left and drew in a sharp breath through the cloth in his mouth. d'Argent was wearing the uniform of the Amestrian military, there was no doubting that. The stripes and star on his shoulder clearly marked him as a second lieutenant, which was a rank lower than what he was as a Nimbian soldier. But the thing that shocked him most was not that he was a spy; it was his identity that stupefied Edward.

The man held an intricately designed pistol in his left hand. Thorny vines trailed along its barrel, curving around two beautiful roses that were shining even brighter than the light that now seemed to be quite dim. If that gun wasn't a dead giveaway for the owner's identity, Ed didn't know what was. Now that he saw d'Argent in the navy blue outfit, he could tell why he had seemed so familiar.

His name didn't resemble anything close to 'd'Argent'. Second Lieutenant Kevin Taylor was a man under Ed's command. A soft, kind guy, but he could have a backbone when needed. That occasional confidence was probably inspired by his best friend, a gunsmith with a sly personality who supplied arms for the military.

Taylor looked very different from before with his red hair; its former color was black. And the glasses… perfect disguise. He had no eye problems at all! They must have fake lenses in them, thought Ed. But back to the problem at hand… if Taylor had taken him and Oiseau as hostages, then that meant that the note he had received yesterday… had been a command to attack. But Roy would have told the lieutenant that he was there… unless he didn't know. Then how did the note get to him?

Edward was rudely disturbed from these thoughts by a harsh smack to the face from his subordinate. Stubbornly, he tried to yell at the man, but only received another slap in return. Holding back a wince, Ed growled and glared at Taylor. Oh, that kid was going to pay for this… he was going to pay dearly.

Before long, he and his fellow captive were yanked up and made to walk out the door. The sight outside was stunning. Dancing red fire burst from the roofs of the buildings, flames licking the dark sky and creating a haunting image. The stars were lightless compared to the meandering heat, which cast its brightness onto the people walking beneath.

Edward had been under the impression that enough things had shocked him in that one night to last him a month, but he nearly fainted as he saw the man beneath the flames.

Roy Mustang hadn't changed a bit in the time they had been separated. Ed stepped towards him, but was yanked back again by Taylor. He stumbled and then collapsed as his sight gave out again, red-hot pain searing through his skull and centering on his eyes.

* * *

Golden eyes fluttered open to see shimmering water, ripples dashing out from somewhere in their silvery blue backdrop to lap lightly at the soft edges. Vibrant green grass lay beneath the blond alchemist, and that, accompanied by the warm rays of the sun, was tempting him to stay and sleep there for eternity.

He was about to do just that when he saw a form walking along the side of the lake, stopping to lean against a tree. It took but a moment to realize who that form belonged to, and Edward pushed himself off the ground effortlessly and made his way over to the man… Roy.

His lover smiled down at him, a true, honest smile. Ed had once believed that a smile would never exist on his face, but had been mistaken greatly. The first time he had seen the expression was when they had first kissed. It had appeared many times after that as well, and would keep on appearing if Ed had anything to say about it.

The two stood in each other's embrace silently for a long time, watching tiny silver fish dart about beneath the glassy surface. Nothing needed to be said. The moment was peaceful, and would be one of many times they had spent together without making a sound, merely enjoying the current company and sense of contentment. Their lives, at the moment, were not nearly as frantic as the movements of the swimming creatures in front of them.

However, silence could not last forever. Edward turned his head to speak to his lover, but stopped short with mouth open as he saw the raven-haired man's face- or lack thereof. Indeed, his whole head seemed shrouded in darkness, giving off a frightening aura of sheer emptiness. His body moved in a way as to suggest a tilting of the head, and he said with concern, "Edward? What's the matter?"

The younger alchemist backed away, a look of abject horror adorning his face. Roy had no head—or so it appeared—and yet he could still speak. Ed's scientific mind was screaming that something was dreadfully wrong with this scene, and his heart was in the same place. He had no words to respond to Roy's question.

Again the brigadier general inquired, and again he was met with silence. Looking around to see if anyone else had noticed the headless man's condition, he froze with even more terror on his face.

The world was slowly fading before his eyes. The water lost its shine, the sun lost its light, and the grass lost its vibrance. Then, the world became completely dark to his eyes.


	4. Identity

**Distant Love: New Sight**

_Chapter Four: Identity_

"What the- gah, just what I need, Flamel fainting on me!" Taylor groaned, supporting the fainted Sergeant with his arm. He glanced warily over at Oiseau, but the captured Nimbian made no move to attack, instead looking around nervously at the gathering Amestrians. "Is there a doctor around here?"

Roy winced inwardly at the statement. Even though Ishbal was long behind him, it still haunted him – especially in times of war. It wasn't easy to forget those who were killed, but he still had to do his job. "Wilson! Get over here!" he ordered.

A lieutenant with short, naturally spiky brown hair was already pushing his way through the troops, holding a small first aid kit in his hand. Once he reached the collapsed man, he checked the body for wounds, sprains, weak spots, and anything else that might be relevant to the patient's health.

Despite the fact that a large part of the invading forces were in the middle of the burning fort, fighting was still going on. There were some other prisoners, but mostly the Nimbians lay dead or dying on the ground, corpses catching fire from the already burning buildings. Every structure in the fort was made of a dry wood; they caught the flames easily. It was no surprise that the whole place was on fire – the fort would be useless now.

Disturbed by the sight and scent of burning flesh, Kevin Taylor turned his attention back to Flamel and the doctor just as Wilson checked the Sergeant's eyes. Kevin didn't get to see what the problem was, but he found out soon enough.

Dennis Wilson's brown eyes widened in shock, gaping in horror at his patient before yelling urgently, "Someone get some water! Quickly!" One of the soldiers that was still there – many of the troops had started to head back to their own camp, leaving the smoking fort behind – ran off to get the liquid. Edging forward, Kevin gasped as he saw the soldier's face and he closed his eyes tightly, stepping back away from the two. Even though he wasn't looking at the scene, he couldn't get the image out of his mind.

Flamel's eyes were red, and a dark red at that. Thick blood covered them completely, spilling out in small rivulets down his cheeks. His eyelids twitched slightly but didn't close completely. Someone came back with a bucket of water and the Brigadier General drew an array on it, cleansing the water. Kevin wasn't watching, but he saw the grimaces and winces on Oiseau's face.

However, there was still yet another problem to deal with. Nicholas Flamel was an enemy soldier, even if he was wounded. A few Amestrians were frowning at the sight of one of their own treating a rival, but they patiently awaited orders from Mustang. Kevin was no exception, but he did care about Flamel's health. The Lieutenant wasn't a cruel person by any means; if he saw someone in pain, he had to help them or else he'd feel guilty later on. But Flamel… the poor guy's eyes were bleeding! What could he do for that?

Forcing his attention back to said man, he was relieved to see some gauze wrapped over the black-haired soldier's eyes. Following the rest of the troops back out of the fort and into the camp, he dragged along a stunned Oiseau and silently hoped for the short hostage to be all right.

* * *

Mesquin Oiseau sat in his dark cell, occasionally glancing worriedly over at his friend. Nicholas hadn't awakened since they had arrived at the Amestrian military's main fort, and according to the Dr Wilson, his condition wasn't much better. The doctor seemed to want him to get better, but nothing he did was working so far. Not that he was in bad condition; Nick just refused to awaken. His eyes were perfectly fine - at least, they appeared that way. It was impossible to tell what had caused the bleeding.

But if they knew just who he was, thought Mesquin, they'd be putting all their effort into helping him regain consciousness... and finding out just what had happened.

He finally decided to start eating his provided dinner: a small sandwich and a glass of water. Removing the chicken from between the bread yet leaving the lettuce leaf where it was, the vegetarian bit into the sandwich, holding it with one hand and digging through his pockets with the other. He pulled out a picture, one that he had been able to accept as reality over the past few days.

_Oiseau started cleaning out his and Flamel's house. He was a neat freak, and any of his friends could account for that. Not that he had many friends…_

_After straightening the sheets on his bed, he moved to Nick's side of the room. As he lifted the pillow to fluff it, he saw a flash of color fall off the bed and bent down to retrieve it. Picking it up, he realized that it was a photo, and took a moment to absorb the picture._

_It showed a golden-eyed blond youth – easily identified as Edward Elric - standing in front of a Christmas tree, with a very recognizable Brigadier General standing next to him. The... interesting... thing was that they were both standing under some hanging mistletoe... and the younger alchemist looked as if he was about to kiss the elder one. From the position they were in, it wasn't very difficult to imagine. Though, why ever would he want to-…_

_Something clicked in the sergeant's mind, and he pulled out his own picture of Nick. Sure enough, both photos had the exact same eyes and expression. His early suspicions were confirmed: Nicholas Flamel and Edward Elric were one and the same. And if Edward liked Roy Mustang, then..._

_...then Mesquin had been sharing a room with a gay guy._

_His face blanched in both fear and embarrassment, and he began to stammer out nonsense to himself before he heard the door creak on its hinges. Shoving the picture into his pocket and replacing the pillow, he turned around to come face-to-face with none other than Nicholas Flamel (who suddenly seemed much shorter than he actually was)._

_Forcing a smile onto his face, the estranged man hid his discomfort and backed into the kitchen to allow Nick – _Edward,_ his mind supplied – some space to walk into. Ignoring the inquiring look, Mesquin grabbed some food and started to put together a meat-free meal for himself._

Sighing as his initial confusion on Edward's orientation returned, his eyes returned to the young man in the cell next to his, sleeping soundly on a small cot. How could that be the same reckless teen he had heard so much about? How could that be the famed Fullmetal Alchemist, lying there so weakly?

A new question entered his mind the next day after Edward had awakened.

How could that be the invincible Colonel of Amestris, unable to see out of his own two eyes?


End file.
